THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


FKAG-MENTS. 


MOSES    OWETST. 


NEW   YORK: 

C.    A.    ALVORD,     15   VAXDEWATER     STREET. 
1868. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

MOSES    OWEN, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


PS 
.2509 


0 


TO    MY   CHKRISHEH    FEIF.ND 


T  tl  O  3VI  A.  S       ~W- 

18    DKOTCATRa   TIII8    MODKST  LITTLE    BOOK 
IS       MEMORY       OF       "DAYS       DEPARTED. 
WHOSE   INSPIRATION    YET   L1NGEKS   IS    THE   MEMORY, 

'  Telling  of  happy  dreams,  of  happy  hours, 
Of  life  and  sunshine  which  it  caught  from  thee." 


764045 


PKEFACE. 


THESE  Fragments,  like  an  inharmonious 
cluster  of  wild- wood  flowers,  are  sent  by  the 
author  to  his  friends  in  Bath,  simply  because 
they  have  asked  for  them. 

If  they  breathe  into  the  chambers  of  any 
heart  a  fragrance  of  emotion,  or  awaken  a  single 
impulse  of  good,  they  will  more  than  fully  equal 
the  expectation  of  him  that  made  them. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ON  GUARD 13 

RETURNED  BATTLE  FLAGS 17 

THE  ORPHAN'S  HOME 19 

SOLDIER'S  MONUMENT 22 

SEDGWICK 24 

"  UNKNOWN  " 26 

THOUGHTS  SUGGESTED  BY  THE   PATRIOTISM   OP   OUR  IRISH 

CITIZENS • 28 

THE  CALL  TO  FREEMEN 31 

THOUGHTS  ox  THE  ENDING  OF  THE  TEAR  1865 36 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAOB 

THE  "BLUE"  AND  THE  "GRAY" 42 

POETICAL  PARAPHRASE,  VI.  SATIRE,  II.  BOOK — HORACE 45 

GRANDMOTHER 55 

To  A  LAKE 57 

To  THE  KENXEBEC 59 

THE  PIXE-TREE  STATE 61 

"  DESERTED  " 63 

SPRING 65 

"  LOST  !" 66 

"SAVED  1" 67 

To 69 

NEW  ENGLAND.  . . » 71 

"  ONLY  A  CHILD  " 74 

ON  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  S 76 

SUMMER 78 

THOUGHTS  ON  THE  DEATH  OP  A  CHRISTIAN 80 

EPITAPH. 82 

REFLECTIONS  OF  AN  OLD  MAN 84 

THE  COMING  OF  WINTER 85 

To  A  CHILD 89 

IN  MEMORIAM,  S.  F.  J 91 


CONTENTS.  XI 

PAGE 

THE  CHURCH-YARD 94 

DISAPPOINTMENT 96 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND  WHO  DIED  AT  HAVANA. .98 

THE  IDEAL  WORLD 99 

STANZAS 104 

BASE  BALL 103 

INFANCY 109 

" LOVER'S  RETREAT " Ill 


ON    GUARD. 


1864. 


-and  the  Sentinel  paces  his 


IS  night !- 

round, 

With  an  eye  for  each  object — an  ear  for  each  sound  ; 
But  his  thoughts  are  roving,  long,  long,  miles  away, 
They  speed  from  him  swiftly — like  children  to  play. 
Again  he's  at  home  in  a  fond  wife's  embrace, 
And  tear  chases  tear  down  his  sun-beaten  face ; 
His  children  now  greet  him — now  call  him  by  name, 
He  heeds  not  the  night  watch — his  home  is  the 
same. 


14:  FRAGMENTS. 

Still  green  is  the  vine  that  encircles  the  door, 
The  path  is  the  same  as  in  blest  days  of  yore ! 
Aye,  every  loved  object  stands  clear  to  his  view. 
God's  angels  have  blessed  him — inspired  him  anew. 


"  Oh,  blessed  be  home !"  now  springs   from  his 

heart, 
"  And  blessed  be  the  ties  that  earth's  power  cannot 

part! 
"  And  blessed  be  memory — that  spark  from  God's 

throne — 

"  That  star  for  earth's  mariner,  wandering  alone  ! 
"  And  blessed  be  our  Country — our  Flag  of  the  Free, 
""Which  floats  now,  triumphant,  o'er  land  and  o'er 

sea, 

"  And  proud  in  thy  glory  we  see  thee  arise, 
"  As  the  sun  scatters  clouds  in  his  course  through 

the  skies." 

The  Sentinel's  pacing  his  dull,  dreary  round  ; 
His  soul  is  now  free  though  the  body  be  bound : 


CLV  GUARD.  15 

But  hark ! — through  the  darkness  some  sound  strikes 
his  ear ; 

He  stops — as  some  object  doth  dimly  appear ; 

"  Halt !"  cries  he ;  "  Who  comes  ?"  speaks  the  Sen- 
tinel now : 

"A  friend  with  the  countersign!"  's  answered  him 
low. 

"Advance  with  the  countersign !"  Soon  it  is  given — 

His  home  is  now  earth,  whilst  before  it  was 
heaven. 


That  bright  dream  is  over  —  his  home's  far  away  ; 
The  night  breeze  is  speaking  which  round  him  dotli 


It  tells  of  a  country  that's  dearer  than  life, 

And  his  arm  feels  the  stronger  for  Freedom's  own 

strife  ; 

It  tells  of  a  foe  who  would  pluck  the  bright  stars, 
From  a  Flag  so  triumphant  in  peace  or  in  wars  ; 
Who  would  make  it  a  by-  word  —  an  object  of  shame  — 
And  he  says,  "  I  will  die  for  its  freedom  or  fame  !  " 


16  FRAGMENTS. 

And  blessed  is  a  country  with  stout  hearts  like  these ; 
The  tramp  of  her  armies  is  swelling  the  breeze ; 
They  rush  to  her  rescue — their  lives  freely  give — 
'Twere  better  to  die  than  in  bondage  to  live  ! 

God  bless  thee,  O  Sentinel,  pacing  thy  round  ! 
Safe  may'st  thou  return,  with  the  victor's  wreath 

bound, 
When  the  dark  clouds  of  war  shall   have  passed 

from  the  skies, 
And  rebellion  is  hurled  down — never  to  rise. 


MAINE  BATTLE  FLAGS.  17 


THE    RETURNED 

MAINE   BATTLE   FLAGS. 

WHICH   HANG  IN  THE  ROTUNDA  OF  THE  STATE  HOUSE,  AT  AUGUSTA. 

OTIIING  but  flags— but  simple  flags, 

Tattered  and  torn  and  hanging  in  rags  ; 
And  we  walk  beneath  them  with  careless  tread, 
Nor  think  of  the  hosts  of  the  mighty  dead, 
That  have  marched  beneath  them  in  days  gone  by, 
With  a  burning  cheek,  and  a  kindling  ej'e, 
And  have  bathed  their  folds  with  their  young  life's 

tide, 
And  dying,  blessed  them,  and  blessing,  died. 

Nothing  but  flags — yet,  methinks,  at  night. 
They  tell  each  other  their  tales  of  fright ! 
And  dim  spectres  come,  and  their  thin  arms  twine 
'Round  each  standard  torn — as  they  stand  in  line. 


18  FRAGMENTS. 

As  the  word  is  given — they  charge !  they  form  ! 
And  the  dim  hall  rings  with  the  battle's  storm  ; 
And  once  again,  through  the  smoke  and  strife, 
Those  colors  lead  to  a  Nation's  life. 

Nothing  but  flags — yet  they're  bathed  with  tears  ; 
They  tell  of  triumphs — of  hopes — of  fears ; 
Of  a  mother's  prayers — of  a  boy  away, 
Of  a  serpent  crushed — of  the  coming  day  ; 
Silent,  they  speak — and  the  tear  will  start, 
As  we  stand  beneath  them  with  throbbing  heart, 
And  think  of  those  who  are  ne'er  forgot, 
Their  flags  come  home — why  come  they  not  ? 

Nothing  but  flags — yet  we  hold  our  breath, 
And  gaze  with  awe  at  those  types  of  death  ; 
Nothing  but  flags — yet  the  thought  will  come, 
The  heart  must  pray  though  the  lips  be  dumb ! 
They  are  sacred,  pure,  and  we  see  no  stain 
On  those  dear  loved  flags  come  home  again  ; 
Baptized  in  blood,  our  purest,  best, 
Tattered  and  torn,  they're  now  at  rest. 


THE  ORPHAN'S  HOME.  19 


THE   ORPHAN'S   HOME. 

DELIVERED   AT   AN    ENTERTAINMENT    GIVEN  AT   BATH  IN   AID   OF  THE 
"  HOME." 

died  for  us !  The  noble,  true  and  brave, 
Laid  down  their  lives — their  holiest  offer- 
ng gave ; 
They  thought  of  home — of  dear  ones  there — the 

kind, 
And  breathed  a  prayer  for  those  the}7  left  behind. 

Their  sacred  trust  remains — their  children  dear, 
Though  they,  their  fathers,  are  no  longer  here ; 
That  prayer  is  answered  and  they  need  not  roam, 
For  loving  hearts  have  op'ed  the  ORPHAN'S  HOME. 
Near  to  the  "  Granite  Shaft  "  its  walls  arise, 
And  Love  stands  beckoning  'neath  the  azure  skies ; 
Enter  ye  children  !  though  the  world  be  drear, 
And  find  a  refuge  and  contentment  here. 


20  FRA  GMENTS. 

Of  SAMPSON'S  power  we  read — that  name  is  might ! 
"We  feel  its  influence  on  this  very  night ; 
lie  but  pulled  down  when  draining  sorrow's  cup, 
But  one,  with  power  divine,  hath  builded  up. 
Her  works  remain — and  many  a  soldier's  eye 
Hath  gleamed  with  pleasure  as  she  passed  him  by, 
Bringing  sweet  hopes  of  health  and  home  again, 
She  seemed  an  Angel  by  his  bed  of  pain. 

Much  had  she  done — but  yet  she  faltered  not ; 

The  dead  were  gone — their  living  not  forgot ; 

"  Make  them  a  place !"  she  said  :  "  They  should  not 

roam !" 
And  from  her  will,  upsprung  the  ORPHAN'S  HOMK. 

And  well  it  is,  that,  'neath  her  fostering  care 
It  sprung  to  life  ;  we  all  its  glories  share ; 
The  little  seed  dropped  tearful  in  the  earth, 
Will  bloom  and  blossom  in  triumphant  birth. 
Who  makes  the  waste  to  bloom,  is  mightier,  far, 
Than  he  who  conquers  in  despoiling  war  ; 


THE   ORPHAN'S  HOME.  21 

And  one  sweet  word  comes,  sacred,  from  above, 
And  gilds  the  heavens  with  the  name  of  "  Love." 

Help  on  the  work !  for  this  we  meet  to-night ; 
What  nobler  purpose  could  our  minds  incite  ? 
The  ORPHAN'S  HOME  !  what  memories  cluster  there ! 
What  more  deserving  of  a  Nation's  care  ! 
A  country,  saved,  implores !  fair  Freedom's  shrine 
Proclaims  each  gift  is  hers,  and  is  divine  ; 
And  they  are  hers — her  children  loved  and  dear, 
She   says,    "Protect  them   while  ye    have    them 
here !" 

Much  has  been  done — yet  much  remains  to  do ; 
A  %;  PATTEN'S  "  name  is  "  sacred  wrare  "-  —'tis  true  ; 
And  hearts  all  throbbing  as  the  ocean's  foam, 

Should  beat  this  night,  to  aid  the  ORPHAN'S  HOME. 
\ 

Oh,  hallowed  thought !  our  soldier's  sacred  trust 
Shall  e'er  remain,  till  earth  shall  sink  to  dust. 


22  FRAGMENTS. 


THE    SOLDIER'S    MONUMENT. 

SACRED   TO    THE    MEMORY    OP    A   NATIOX'S    DEAD. 

IS  but  a  shaft  on  the  windy  height, 
Which  will  crumble  to  dust  by  the  age's 
blight ; 

And  the  names  will  fade  from  the  stone  away, 
In  the  long,  long  years — yet  they  count  to-day  ! 

'Tis  but  a  shaft — yet  we  bow  the  head, 

And  feel  we  are  nearer  our  noble  dead  ; 

"We  watched  them  going  with  tear-dimmed  eye, 

And  clasping  hand,  and  fond  "  good-by  !  " 

And  the  rolling  drums  and  the  flags  unfurled, 

Told  not  of  the  shock  that  should  shake  the  world ; 

Of  those  fearful  years  when  in  battle's  strife, 

They  should  give  their  own  for  a  Nation's  life. 

We  saw  not  the  spectres  that  followed  on, 

Yet,  somehow,  we  wept  when  we  found  them  gone, 


THE  SOLDIERS  MONUMENT.  33 

And  many  a  heart  felt  itself  alone, 

Though  it  read  no  name  on  the  un wrought  stone. 

'Tis  but  a  shaft — and  our  valiant  dead, 
Perchance,  sleep  far  from  its  rocky  bed  ! 
Yet  I  love  to  think  that  they  hover  'round, 
At  home,  once  more,  near  this  hallowed  ground  ; 
And,  all  unseen,  with  their  words  of  cheer, 
They  whisper,  "  Mother,  your  boy  is  near  !  " 
And  I  love  to  think  that  their  toils  are  o'er, 
They  form  no  ranks — hear  no  cannon's  roar  ! 
They  have  passed  beyond — all  their  work  is  done  ! 
They  have  fought  the  fight  and  the  victory's  won. 

n 

Oh,  valiant  dead !  though  that  shaft  decay, 
And  crumble  and  sink  into  dust  away, 
Yet,  nobler  than  cunning  works  of  art, 
Your  temple  stands  in  Freedom's  heart. 
And  brighter  and  brighter  your  names  shall  glow, 
For  they  shine  on  high  though  they  fade  below  ; 
And  eternal  years  may  not  blight  nor  chill 
Though  that  shaft  must  sink  from  the  windy  hiil. 


24  FRAGMENTS. 


"SEDGWICK." 

MAY  9,  1864. 

E  breathe  his  name — the  "  cross  "  gleams 
bright, 
On  every  manly  breast ; 
HE  wore  it — and  it  caught  the  light 
Of  heaven's  own  pure  bequest. 

Then  brothers  let  us  bow  the  head, 

And  feel  his  presence  near  ; 
The  brave  die  not — he  is  not  dead, 

No !     SEDGWICK'S  soul  is  here ! 

God  bless  him !     When,  amidst  the  fray, 
We  sweep  the  death-struck  plain, 

We  hear  his  voice — the  foe  gives  way, 
And  SKDGWICX  leads  again! 


"SEDGWJCK"  25 

He  left  us,  when  through  "Wilderness" 

War  shed  its  lurid  flame ; 
When  ranks  were  growing  less  and  less, 

lie  left  us — but  in  name. 

His  sword  was  sheathed — yet  ever  near 

The  dear  old  flag  he  moves, 
Beneath  the  "  cross  "  he  whispers  cheer. 

The  "  cross"  that  SEDGWICK  loves. 

Then  breathe  his  name !  the  "  cross  "  gleams  bright 

On  every  manly  breast ; 
He  wore  it,  and  it  caught  the  light 

Of  heaven's  own  pure  bequest. 


26  FRA  GMEXTS. 


UNKNOWN. 

H,  cold,  cruel,   word  !     on   the  cold,  cruel 

stone, 

That  marks  where  a  hero  lies  sleeping  "  unknown  ;" 
And  the  tear  it  will  rise  as  the  sad  thought  doth 

come, 
That  some  one  was  waiting  to  welcome  him  home. 

And  love  waiteth  long — and  hope  lingereth  on 
Though  reason  may  whisper  "  Your  loved  one  has 

gone  !" 
And  morning  and  night   on  the   sweet  breath   of 

prayer, 
Some  fond  heart  entrusts  him  to  God's  loving  care. 

But  the  sweet  flowers  of  Summer  shall  blootn  on 

his  grave, 
In  the  far  distant  South, — and  the  life  that  he  gave 


UNKNOWN.  27 

For  Freedom  on  earth,  shall  be  sacred  above, 
And  there  they  shall  meet  him — where's  nothing 
but  love. 

And  Faith  points  triumphant,  above  the  low  mound, 

And  Heaven  seems  nearer — this  is  hallowed  ground  ; 

And  my  tears  cease  to  flow — for  I  hear  a  sweet 
tone, 

Saying,  "Up  high  in  heaven  there's  nothing  un- 
known." 


28  FRAGMENTS. 


THOUGHTS. 

SUGGESTED    BY    THE   PATRIOTISM    OE   OUR   IRISH    FELLOW   CITIZEN'S. 

0^fca 

pfONG  suff'ring  Ireland,  from  thy  island  homo, 

Thy  sons  are  gazing  o'er  the  restless  sea ! 
With  hearts  all  throbbing  as  the  ocean's  foam, 
And  souls  all  ardent, — they  can  yet  be  free. 

They  love  our  country,  for  she  heard  their  cry, 
When   famine  gaunt  was  stalking,  'round  each 
door; 

She  heard  to  heed  it,  and  her  ships  did  fly, 

And  brought  relief  to  Ireland's  suffering  poor. 

They  love  our  country  for  she  shines  a  star 
In  freedom's  sky,  to  light  all  Nations  on ; 

They  catch  its  radiance  o'er  the  waste  afar, 
And  Ireland  dreams  of  Freedom's  blessed  morn. 


THOUGHTS.  29 

Go  in  the  thickest  fight — where  duty  calls, 

That  love  is  shown — for  Ireland's  sons  are  there ! 

Onward  they  press — though  many  a  hero  falls 
They  fill  the  gap — and  never  know  dispair. 

And  history's  page  will  brighten  with  their  deeds, 

In  years  to  come  when  truth  asserts  her  sway, 
When     wrong     is     vanquished,    and    the    tyrant 

bleeds, 

"When  error's  night  gives  place   to  brightsome 
day. 

Look  !  in  that  dismal  cell  a  captive  brave 
Is  sadly  gazing  through  its  iron  bars  ; 

His  soul  is  wandering  where  he  strove  to  save, 
Again  he  fights  for  Freedom's  stripes  and  stars. 

Yes,     Corcoran,    yes, — with    pride    we    call    thy 
name  ; 

No  truer  heart  than  thine  could  ever  beat ; 
No  nobler  gift  could  Freedom  give  to  Fame 

No  braver  soul  a  vaunting  foe  could  meet. 


30  FBA  GMENTS. 

Well  may  they  hold  the  lion  in  his  cage, 
And  tremble  but  to  think  that  he  was  free  ; 

Well  may  they  show  the  tyrant's  ceaseles  rage, 
He  finds  an  echo  o'er  the  heaving  sea. 

Yes  Ireland  hears,  and  asks  each  passing  gale, 
"  What  news  from  Freedom's  shores, — Columbia's 
land?" 

Trembling,  they  ask,  "  If  right  can  ever  fail  ?" 
"  If  Freedom's  Temple  will  not  always  stand  ?" 

Yes,  Ireland,  yes ! — by  thy  brave  sons  we  swear, 
By  all  that's  prized  above  or  loved  below, 

That  flag  shall  float  as  free  as  God's  pure  air, 
Whilst  freemen  live  and  tyrants  fee]  the  blow. 


THE   CALL    TO  FREEMEN.  31 


THE   CALL   TO   FREEMEN, 


1862. 


i  UT  for  three  hundred  thousand  of  freemen 

true  and  brave, 
To  crush  the  serpent  Treason — a  bleeding  land  to 

save  ? 
To  raise  the  starry  banner  o'er  Freedom's  sacred 

soil, 
To  keep  intact  our  fathers  gift  gained  with  such 

ceaseless  toil  ? 
We  know  our  brothers,  marshalled,  are  panting  for 

the  fray, 
Not  great  in  force  but  great  in  heart  they  wait  the 

coming  day ; 
The  foe,  exultant,  presses  and  boasts  that  right  is 

low, 
Up  every  Freeman  of  the  North,  and  show  them 

'tis  not  so  1 


Hg  FRAGMENTS. 

Young  man,  arise  !  each,  southern  breeze  is  fraught 

with  dire  alarm, 
Your  country  calls  ! — you  can  but  hear !— she  needs 

your  stalwart  arm ; 
Your  brothers  call! — full  well  they've   borne  the 

the  burden  of  the  day, 
Gird  on  your  armor — meet  them  South,  and  rout 

the  foe  away. 

Obey  the  call  and  hurry  on — three  hundred  thou- 
sand strong, 
And  when  you're  gone — we'll  follow  on — we  hope 

it  won't  be  long ; 
Come  from  the  workshop  and  the  bench,  send  up 

the  deaf  ning  cry, 
"  For  Freedom,  happy,  we  will  live,  or  happier  still 

will  die." 


Three  hundred  thousand,  well  we  know,  with  those 

before  us  gone, 

Must  make  it  lighten  all  around  and  show  the  com- 
ing morn  ; 


THE  CALL   TO  FREEMEN.  33 

But  for  the  mid-day  panting,  our  souls  await  your 

call, 
But  give  it  "  Father  Abram"  we'll  "  push  them  to 

the  wall !" 

This  is  no  baby's  pastime,  no  sight  nor  grand  re- 
view, 
A  bleeding  country,  groaning,  calls ;    we  all  have 

work  to  do ; 
Why  stop  at  home  deriding  the  Southron's  skill  and 

power, 
And  boasting  of  the  conq'ring  North,  when  dark 

the  tempests  lower  ? 
For  Eight  must  have  her  champions — and  strength 

decides  the  fray, 
Trust  in  your  powder — in  your  men,  and  God  will 

give  the  day. 


List  to  that  wail  on  Southern  breeze  !  your  broth- 
er's tones  are  there  ! 

They  speak  and  urge  you  now  to  come  on  every 
breath  of  air ; 


34  FRA  ORIENTS. 

And  can  ye  now  forsake  them — the  fearless  and 

the  brave  ? 
No  j     Freemen,  No  I — they've  gone  before — if  needs 

we'll  share  their  grave  ! 
Go  ask  that  Spartan  mother,  though  all  her  sons 

have  gone, 
If  she'd  one  more — for  Freedom's  cause  she  would 

not  urge  him  on  ? 

I  see  her  dark  eye  kindle — I  hear  her  stern  reply, 
"  Go  forth  my  boy,  I  give  you  up,  there  is  a  God 

on  high  ! 

"  And  living,  is  but  dying,  if  with  a  coward's  fear, 
"  You  dare  not  face  your  country's  foe,  howe'er  he 

may  appear. 
"  Your  father,  boy,  was  eager  to  smite  the  Briton's 

pride ; 
"  You  are  his  son- -I  know  you'll  stand  firm  by  your 

brother's  side ; 

"  He  gave  his  life  for  Freedom  and,  'mid  the  can- 
non's roar 
"  He  only  mourned  he  could  not  live  to  give  it  o'er 

and  o'er ! 


THE   CALL    TO  FREEMEN.  35 

"  His  spirit  now  is  present — his  voice  is  breathing 

low, 
"  Go  forth  my  boy,  your  father  bids,  your  father 

bids  you  go !" 

Then  give  the  call!— the  Eastern  States  will  hurl 

their  legions  on, 
The  noble  West  bear  on  the  cry, — Maine  join  with 

Oregon ; 

Atlantic  to  Pacific  speak,  and  scorning  Nations  see 
That  Freedom's  fires  shall  brighter  glow — that  men 

can  yet  be  free. 


36  FRAGMENTS. 


THOUGHTS  ON  THE  ENDING  OF  THE 
YEAR. 

1865. 

ND  Sixty-Five  has  gone! — that  great  victo- 
rious year 

Has  passed  all  noiseless,  but  its  record's  clear ; 
It  speaks  a  country  saved, — a  flag  unfurled ; 
It  speaks  of  Freedom  to  the  wide,  wide  world 
It  speaks  a  mother's  heart  made  glad — her  boy  at 

home, 

Alas,  it  speaks  of  those  who  ne'er  can  come ; 
It  tells  a  Nation's  joy — a  Nation's  grief — 
A  Nation's  mourning  for  her  fallen  Chief. 
He  fell,  triumphant,  with  his  armor  on  ! 
The  night  had  passed   and   war's  red   field  been 

won  ; 


ON  THE  ENDING   OF  THE   YEAR.  37 

Thus,  in  (iod's  morning,  when  the  summons  came, 
He  passed  to  glory  and  to  deathless  fame. 
"Wherever  hearts  shall  beat,  his  name  shall  thrill  ! 
Wherever  Freedom  breathe,  his  deeds  instill ! 
And  LINCOLN'S  name,  alone,  have  power  to  save, 
And  strike  the  shackles  from  the  tyrant's  slave. 


And  Peace  has  come,  and  merry  bells  ring  forth, 
And  notes  of  joy  are  heard  both  South  and  North. 
Our  prayer's  been  granted,  and  our  God  has  shown 
That  right  must  triumph — wrong  be  overthrown. 
All  blessed  Peace  !  we  hail  thy  genial  rays  ! 
We  watched  thy  dawning  through  the  long,  long 

days. 

The  East  grew  red, — then,  to  our  rapturous  sight, 
God  wrote  his  promise  in  his  words  of  light. 
The  serpent's  head  was  bruised ;  the  tyrant  host 
"Was  put  to  shame — their  pride  and  valor  lost ; 
The   sea  rolled  on — though  Freedom's  wave  ran 

blood, 
Each  drop  was  pregnant  for  a  Nation's  good. 


38  FRAGMENTS. 

Our  dead  rest  well : — on  many  a  Southern  plain 
They  sunk  to  sleep, — nor  summer  heat,  nor  rain, 
Xor  wintry  blasts  they  heed  ; — they  woke  to  life, 
And  with  their  flags  marched  proudly  from  the 

strife. 

Their  flags  are  home;   they  hang  in  solemn  gloom, 
And  lend  a  grandeur  to  the  stately  room  ; 
Are  they  not  present  ?     Ask  the  yearning  heart ! 
Though  not  in  form — their  spirits  ne'er  depart. 
Some  died  in  prison,  wasting  day  by  day, 
Sighing  for  home,  beneath  the  tyrant's  sway, 
Their  freedom  came  from  God — not  brutal  men, 
And  souls  went  home  from  many  a  prison  pen. 
God  will  avenge  the  blood  of  Patriots  slain, 
The  car  of  justice  moves  in  might  again. 


Give  thanks  to  God  !  let  merry  bells  ring  forth. 
Their  notes  of  triumph   through   the  South  and 

North, 

The  harvest  smiled,  nor  want  nor  care  should  come, 
To  cast  a  shadow  o'er  a  happy  home. 


ON  THE  ENDING    OF  THE  YEAR.  39 

Give  thanks  to  God — and  let  the  notes  roll  on, 
The  right  has  triumphed,  and  the  war  is  done  ; 
Our  peace  is  conquered,  and  our  flag  is  free, 
And  floats  triumphant  over  land  and  sea — 
And  o'er  the  ocean,  like  a  guiding  star, 
Its  rays  are  shining  through  the  waste  afar, 
And  earth's  downtrodden,  poor,  may  come, 
And  find  their  freedom — for  'tis  Freedom's  home. 

God  pity  England — though  a  friend  in  name, 
She  sowed  our  ruin,  and  she  reaped  her  shame  ; 
War's  dogs  let  loose — she  urged  and  cheered  the 

pack, 

And  lit  the  ocean  with  her  pirate's  track. 
Though  on  her  soil  the  sun  may  never  set, 
She  gropes  in  darkness  and  she  sees  not  yet ; 
Her  boast  should  he  that,  Where  her  Sun  doth  rise, 
Her  Justice  sets  not,  but  illumes  the  skies. 
E'en  now  she  trembles,  for  the  dark  clouds  form, 
She  cowers  before  it — for  she  dreads  the  storm, 
And  tyrants  there,  as  here,  may  shortly  find 
Their  shackles  broken  from  the  limb  and  mind. 


40  FRAGMENTS. 

Around  the  festive  board,  Thanksgiving  day, 
The  vacant  chairs,  spoke  many  far  away ; 
'.Neath  summer  skies  they  sleep — perchance  "  Un- 
known," 

They  had  their  union  near  their  Father's  throne. 
And  Christmas  time  came  by  with  merry  bell, 
Christ  died  for  them  they  know,  and  feel  full  well ; 
The  sword  is  sheathed — the  thunders  died  away, 
They  gamed   their  freedom  when  they  left  their 
clay. 

Then  welcome  'Sixty-six — nor  man  can  know 
Your  coming  record  as  thy  stream  doth  flow  ; 
Upon  thy  waves  perchance  we  joyful  glide. 
And  float  all  heedless  down  thy  rapid  tide. 
The  sea  is  reached — and  many  ere  this  year 
Has  run,  must  sink, — and  many,  a  doubt  and  fear 
Will  perish  as  your  waves  roll  on, 
And  many  rise  before  your  race  is  done. 

And  farewell  'Sixty-five — thou'rt  Freedom's  year  ! 
You  rose  in  darkness  but  you  set  all  clear  ! 


ON  THE  ENDING    OF  THE    YEAR.  41 

And  gray-haired  Sires  whom  danger  ne'er  could 

daunt, 

Will  breathe  their  blessings  on  the  name  of  GRANT. 
And.SiiEKMAN's  march,  triumphant,  to  the  sea, 
The  child  will  hear  that  prattles  by  the  knee ; 
And  every  second  of  thy  course  be  fraught 
With     memory's    tear,    and    memory's    pleasing 

thought. 


42  FRAGMENTS. 


THE    "BLUE"    AND  THE    "GRAY." 

APRIL  9,   1865. 

HE  stars  o'er  two  armies — the  "  Blue  "  and 

the  u  Gray," 
To-night  in  the  South-land  are  twinkling  away  ; 
It  seems  but  a  dream — but,  thank  God,  it  is  more, 
The  Right  is  triumphant — the  Contest  is  o'er. 
The  flag  that  earth's  heroes  in  glory  unfurled, 
The  terror  of  despots — the  hope  of  the  world — 
Comes  out  of  the  smoke  and  the  roar  of  the  strife, 
Baptized  with  the  blood  that  has  poured  for  its  life. 

'Tis  Sabbath  !  all  holy — and  nothing  alarms  ! 
The  cannon  are  silent — and  stacked  are  the  arms ; 
For  years  they  have  thundered  by  night  and  by 

day, 
And  Death  reaped  his  harvest, — the  "Blue''  and 

the  "  Gray," 


THE  "BLUE"   AND  THE  "GRAY."  43 

All  quiet !    The  picket  to-night  breathes  a  sigh  ! 
His  home  and   the  loved  ones  seem  wondrously 

nigh  ! 
He  whispers   a  blessing  that  "  Peace "  has  been 

won. 
Yet    starts    at  each  footstep,   and    looks    to    his 

gun  ! 


Oh  Picket !  this  night  in  advance  of  the  "  Blue," 
Our  hopes   and  our  country  hung   trembling  on 

you; 

Through  colcl  and  through  hunger — through  dark- 
ness so  drear, 
You   swerved  not,  nor   faltered,  and   morning  is 

here! 

No  longer  the  marches,  the  shriek  of  the  shell, 
The  ground  strewn  with  dying,  and  earth  made  a 

hell ; 

No  longer  the  fears  in  the  homes  '•  far  away," 
For  the  stars  whisper,  "  Peace  !"  o'er  the  "  Blue  " 
and  the  "  Gray." 


44  FRAGMENTS. 

One  fought  for"  a  Country,  for  Freedom,  for  Right, 
And  Heaven  hath  crowned  it  with  glory  to-night; 
The  other,  with  madness,  rushed  forth  to  the  fray, 
And  passed  with  its  flag,  in  dishonor  away. 
The  contest  was  fearful,  the  years  were  so  long, 
And  Fortune  seemed   guarding  the  cause  of  the 

wrong ; 
But  the  Picket  looks  upward,  his  troubles   will 

cease 
And  Hope  gilds  with  glory  the   sweet  name  of 

"Peace!" 


POETICAL  PARAPHRASE.  45 


POETICAL    PARAPHRASE. 

VI.    SATIRK,    II.    BOOK,    HORACE. 

"  Hoc  erat  in  volis  " — 

Y  heart  longed  earnestly  for  these : 
*  A  tract  of  ground,  well  fringed  with 
trees ; 

Not  over  large,  and  also  near, 
A  gurgling  fountain  deep  and  clear. 
For  me  the  Gods  have  better  done  ! 
And  well  it  is,  O  Maia's  son ! 
No  more  I  ask,  no  more  from  thee, 
But  that  they  e'er  remain  to  me ; 
If  I  by  fraud  have  nothing  gained, 
Nor  lost  by  vice — and  have  abstained 
From  offering  up  these  foolish  prayers  : 
"  O,  that  this  spot  was  mine,  not  theirs. 


46  FRAGMENTS. 

"  Which  now  my  little  farm  makes  drear ! 
"  O,  how  I  wish  chance  might  appear, 
"  And  show  me  where  deep  hid  in  earth, 
"  Lie  countless  treasures  free  from  dearth  ! 
"  As  he  who  serving,  tilling  ground, 
"  The  same  soon  bought  with  money  found, 
"  And  rose  to  affluence  in  the  end, 
"  For  valiant  Hercules  was  his  friend  !" 
If  what  there  is,  my  mind  doth  please, 
Thee  I  address  with  prayers  like  these : 
"  Make  fat  my  cattle — but  my  mind 
u  Turn  sprightly,  hidden  truths  to  find  ! 
"  And  be  to  me  a  guardian  true, 
"  To  bear  me  all  my  dangers  through  !"' 


Then  when  from  city's  dusty  street, 
Some  Sylvan  grove  forms  my  retreat, 
Flow  better  can  I  spend  my  days, 
Than  penning  satires — rural  lays  ? 
Ambition  bears  no  grief  to  me, 
The  leaden  Auster  murmureth  free  ; 


POETICAL   PARAPHRASE.  47 

And  Autumn  brings  me  pleasant  hours, 
And  Libitina's  gain  ne'er  sours. 
Pater  Matutine  !  or,  Janus,  Thou ! 
By  whom -men  first  labors  undergo, 
Come  be  thou  present  with  thy  fire, 
And  grant  me  strength  to  strike  the  lyre  ! 


And  by  thy  orders  I  depart, 
Another's  bail  in  Rome's  great  mart. 
"  Quick !  make  thee  haste,  lest  one  before, 
"  Of  this,  thy  part,  should  be  the  doer  I" 
And  I  must  go  where  north  winds  roar, 
And  wintry  days  e'er  decrease  more  ! 
Then  speaking — clearly  to  my  harm, 
The  jostling  crowd  my  words  alarm  ; 
Insult  the  tardy  by  my  speed, 
"  What  mean  you  madman  ?  Take  you  heed  ! 
"  Must  you  push  down  all  that's  before, 
"  To  reach  with  haste  Macenas'  door  ?" 
And  one,  more  surly  than  the  rest, 
Says  everything,  except,  "  Be  blest !" 


48  FRA  GXENTS. 

This  pleases  and  is  sweet  to  me, 
I  must  not  lie  where'er  I  be. 
The  black  Esquilise  then  draw  near  ; 
A  hundred  plans  buzz  round  me  here  : 
One  is,  that  Roscius  begs  of  me, 
'Fore  eight  on  morrow  him  to  see  ! 
"  And  you,  O  Quintus,  should  devise, 
"  For  greater  plans  before  us  rise  ! 
"  Has  great  Macenas  set  his  seal 
"  To  documents  of  woe  or  weal  ? 

But  when  I  answer : — "  I  will  try  !'' 
"  You  can  T'  adds  he,  more  earnestly. 


The  seventh  year  now  draws  to  its  end, 
From  whence  I  ranked  Macenas'  friend  ; 
That  is,  as  one  whom  he  would  trust 
In  chariot  rumbling  through  the  dust ; 
And  these  small  trifles  would  propose : 
"  Can  Syrus  stand  Gallina's  blows  2" 
"  The  mornings,  I  think,  grow  more  drear !" 
And  such  like, — for  a  leaky  ear. 


POETICAL  PARAPHRASE.  49 

Yet  all  the  people  think  that  he 

Entrusts  his  great  affairs  to  me. 

Are  any  rumors  in  the  street  ? 

I'm  stopped  by  each  and  all  I  meet, 

And  asked:  "  Good  sir — for  you  must  know, 
"  How  stands  it  with  the  Dacians  now  ?" 

But  when  my  ignorance  I  plead, 
"  What !  wilt  e'er  joke  ?  there  is  no  need !" 
"  But  may  the  Gods  me  ever  rack, 
"  If  I  know  aught,"  1  answer  back; 
"  Are  Dacian  or  Italian  lands 
"  Granted  as  farms  for  Gsesar's  bands?" 

But  when  I  say  "  I  nothing  know  !" 

Their  wonder  greater  still  doth  grow  ; 

Admiring  me,  as  keeping  still, 

On  what  a  mighty  brain  doth  fill. 


And  'mong  these  things  the  days  go  by ; 
"  Oh,  wretched  me  !"  I  groan  and  sigh  ! 
"  Oh,  farm  !  when  shall  I  thee  behold  '* 

"  When  shall  this  life  appear  less  cold  ? 

7 


50  FRAGMENTS. 

"  When  shall  Pythagoras'  kindred  bear., 
"  And  pot-herbs,  seasoned  well,  be  seen  ?" 
Oh,  Nights  and  godlike  Suppers  !  Yon 
Have  me  regaled  with  friends  e'er  true  ! 
My  pert  slaves  also  have  their  share 
Of  hallowed  viands,  rich  and  rare; 
And  as  each  one  may  have  the  mind, 
He  quaffs  his  goblets, — no  laws  bind  ; 
Whether  the  toper  runs  it  o'er, 
Or  mellow  grows  by  drinking  lower. 
And  friendly  speech  springs  up  meanwhile 
'Tis  not  of  dome's  or  temple's  style, 
Nor  whether  Lepos  dances  well  or  not ! 
Such  things  as  these  are  here  forgot ; 
But  what  is  better  far  to  know, 
About  the  highest  good  belo\v. 
Whether  wealth  or  virtue  can  befriend, 
And  whicli  stands  conqueror  in  the  end. 
And  'mongst  these  Cervius  prates  away 
Old  tales,  on  whatsoe'er  we  say. 
For  should  one  praise  Aurelius'  gold  ; 
He  tells  this  one,  'tis  good — if  old  : 


POETICAL  PARAPHRASE. 

A  country  mouse — so  runs  the  tale, 

Who  had  his-cave  in  some  lone  dale, 

A  city  mouse  did  once  invite, 

His  friend  and  guest  and  great  delight, 

To  share  his  cave ;  he  ope'd  his  soul, 

And  hoarded  vetches  out  did  roll ; 

Long  oats  he  freely  did  bestow, 

And  all  he  had  to  him  did  go, 

Desiring,  by  his  dainties  rare, 

His  squeamishness  would  disappear  ; 

Whilst  he,  stretched  out  on  well  lain  straw, 

Ground  coarser  food  within  his  maw. 


At  last  the  city  mouse  outspoke  : 
"  How  comes  it  friend  you  bear  the  yoke 
u  Of  living  patient  in  this  dell  ? 
"  Would'st  not  prefer  with  men  to  dwell  ? 
'•  Come  !  take  your  journey !  go  with  me ! 
"  Since  mortal  souls  all  have  like  thee, 
"  And  death  must  come  to  great  and  sma'l. 
u  Wherefore,  my  friend,  make  this  life  all !" 


52  FRA  GMENTZ. 

The  simple  mouse  drunk  in  the  tale, 
And  nimbly  springs  without  his  pale  ; 
And  now  the  twain  rush  swiftly  on, 
To  end  their  jaunt  ere  day  has  gone. 

When  Luna's  rays  shone  in  the  sky, 
They  spied  a  stately  mansion  nigh  ; 
And  entered  it  with  eager  haste, 
Where  crimson  carpets  showed  rare  taste, 
And  many  a  fragment  scattered  lay, 
Of  some  grand  feast  of  yesterday. 
Then  with  his  rustic  friend  at  ease, 
As  nimble  host  he  tries  to  please  ; 
And  brings  up  dishes,  one  by  one, 
Tasting,  to  see  if  they  are  done. 
Whilst  he,  on  couch,  at  ease  prone  lies, 
And  marks  his  friend  with  loving  eyes. 

When,  suddenly,  the  rattling  door 
Makes  both  to  scamper  o'er  the  floor ! 
The  dogs  bark  loudly  through  the  hall, 
The  lofty  house  resounds  each  call ! 


POETICAL    PARAPHRASE.  53 

The  rustic,  out,  says  to  his  friend, 
'•  This  life  to  me  no  joy  can  lend  ! 
"'  And  now  good-by  !  my  wood  and  dell, 
"  With  scanty  store,  I  like  full  well !" 


o4 


FRA  GMENTS. 


GKA  ND310  THER.  55 


GRANDMOTHER. 

§IIE  sits  all  day  by  the  idle  wheel, 
As  the  grand-child  softly  in  doth  steal ; 
The  cat's  at  play  on  the  well-worn  floor, 
And  the  clock  ticks  on  o'er  the  ancient  door. 


The  fragrant  breath  of  the  new-mown  hay, 
Comes  up  from  the  meadow  this  summer  day  : 
The  dreamy  hours  seem  to  whisper — "  Rest !  ' 
As  the  bird  trills  love  to  its  mate  in  nest. 


Oh,  little  girl !  it  will  not  be  long, 
Ere  she  will  sleep,  where  no  bird's  sweet  song 
Can  reach  her  ear — and  our  grief  you'll  share, 
When  you  look  with  tears  on  her  vacant  chair. 


56  FRAGMENTS. 

Her  thoughts  go  back  when  the  Summer  smiled. 
And  she  walked  forth  as  a  careless  child  ; 
But  the  years  went  by  with  their  woe  and  weal, 
And  she  sleeps  to-day  by  her  spinning-wheel. 


TO  A  LAKE.  57 


TO  A  LAKE. 

OUN TAINS  around  thee  rise 
Above,  below,  the  skies ; 
The  wild  fawn,  timid,  from  the  leafy  brake, 
Starts  at  his  imaged  form,  in  thee,  fair  Lake. 


The  woods  embrace  thee  round  ; 

Each  height  with  foliage  crowned  ; 
But  few  have  e'er  beheld  thy  smiling  face, 
Thou  jewel,  set  with  Nature's  loveliest  grace ! 


The  wild  bird  flies  o'erhead, 

Or,  011  thee,  has  no  dread ; 

The  little  brook  that  wooed  thee  through  the  day, 
Melts  with  thy  waters  into  song,  away. 

8 


58  FRAGMENTS. 

Thou  glassy  mirror,  fair  ! 

My  thoughts  are  wand'ring,  where, 
This  summer  day,  thou  laughest  in  thy  pride, 
And  I,  alas,  am  far  from  thy  loved  side  ! 

For  to  earth's  wearied  mind, 

A  pleasure,  undefined, 

Thou  bring'st  to  him,  who,  far  from  bustling  street, 
Communes  with  Nature  in  her  own  retreat. 

Undine-like,  I  see 

Fair  forms  arise  from  thee  ! 

And  from  thee  come  sweet  words  to  cheer  my  heart, 
I  know  thou  chidest,  that  I  keep  apart. 

I  shall  be  near  thee,  soon  ! 

The  balmy  breath  of  June 
Shall  greet  me,  wand'ring,  'neath   thy  wild- wood's 

shade, 
Where  oft,  o'er  flow'ry  banks,  my  feet  have  strayed. 


TO    THE  KENNEBEG.  59 


TO    THE    KEKNEBEC. 

H,  sweet  flowing  river !  how  oft  by  thy  side, 
In   childhood's   bright  days   I   have  wan- 
dered along ; 
When  the  world  was  all  bright,  and  my  thoughts, 

like  thy  tide, 
Danced  out  to  an  ocean  of  music  and  song. 


Thou,  still,  art  the  same :  but,  alas,  I  am  not ! 
Grown  older,  the  charm  and  the  freshness  have 

fled  ; 
Some  friends  that  I  loved  have  grown  cold — have 

forgot — 
And  some  now  are  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the  dead. 


60  FRAGMENTS. 

Your  white-winged  ships  you  still  bear  to  the  sea  ; 

I  once  thought  that  pleasure  must  follow  them  on, 

And  far  o'er  the  waters  my  thoughts  went  with 

thee, 

They  went  into  dream-land,  where  I,  too,  was 
gone. 

I  know  now  that  tempest,  and  darkness,  and  gloom, 
Encircle  them  round  both  by  night  and  by  day ; 

That  many  are  mold'ring  in  ocean's  drear  tomb, 
And  tears  bring  not  back  what  your  tide  bore 
away. 

Yet,  sweet  flowing  river!  my  thoughts  once  again, 
Shall  turn,  as  in  childhood,  all  fondly  to  thee; 

Deal  kind  with  thy  treasures,  I'll  love  thee,  as  when 
My  thoughts,  like  thy  waters,  danced  out  to  the 
sea. 


THE  PINE   TREE  STATE.  Q\ 


THE  PINE  TREE  STATE. 

"DIRIGO." 

4 

IIOU  first  in  the  light  of  the  morning ! 

Thou  first  in  the  light  of  the  truth  ! 
"  Dirigo,"  thy  forehead  adorning ! 
All  fresh  with  the  vigor  of  youth ! 

Lead  on  in  the  march  of  the  nations  ! 

Our  hopes  and  our  prayers  are  with  thee ! 
Stand  firm  for  a  Country's  salvation, 

Upright  as  thy  stately  pine  tree ! 

"  What  news  from  'the  east  ?"  is  now  ringing 
O'er  mountain  and  forest  and  plain  ; 

The  heralds  glad  tidings  are  bringing ; 
E'er  true  to  her  record  is  Maine. 


62  FRA  GMENTS. 

Lead  on,  with  thy  colors  proud  flying  ! 

Lead  on,  in  the  cause  of  the  Right! 
All  danger,  for  Freedom,  defying, 

Thou  first  in  the  beams  of  the  light ! 


DESERTED.  63 


DESERTED. 

HE  river  flows  fast  to  the  sea  to-day, 

Deserted — I  wander  forlorn  ; 
Its  tide,  as  it  passes,  seems  sadly  to  say, 
Life's  hopes  and  its  pleasures  are  gone  ! 

The  old  house  stands,  by  its  well  known  shore, 

Deserted — a  thing  of  the  past ; 
That  dream  of  the  morning  has  swiftly  passed  o'er, 

The  shadows  of  night  gather  fast. 

The  river  flows  back — but  it  brings  not  the  joy, 

That  went,  long  ago,  on  its  tide ; 
It  brings  but  remembrance  of  days  when  a  boy,  • 

I  wandered,  its  waters,  beside. 


64  FR-±  GMENTS. 

I  think  of  the  times  when  the  e'er  open  door 
Spoke  welcome  to  each  happy  guest ; 

The  river  sobs  on  as  it  tells,  o'er  and  o'er, 
That  those  that  I  loved  are  at  rest. 

The  river  flows  fast  to  the  sea  to-day  ; 

Deserted — I  wander  forlorn  ; 
Its  tide,  as  it  passes,  seems  sadly  to  say, 

Life's  hopes  and  its  pleasures  are  gone. 


SPRING.  65 


SPRING. 

§ACK  to  our  clime  again  a  Maiden  hies ; 
^ 
At    first  too    coy,   with  downcast,   modest 

eyes; 

The  violets  greet  her,  and  the  song-birds  sing, 
And  trill  the  praises  of  their  mistress,  Spring. 

Stern  Winter's  hand  is  loosed — the  brook  runs  free, 
The  blade  grows  green — the  bud  adorns  the  tree ; 
"Where'er  her  light  foot  falls,  a  trace  remains, 
And  beauty  nestles  o'er  our  hills  and  plains. 

Sweet  time  of  Spring !    What  memories  flood  the 

heart ! 

What  dreams  of  rapture  doth  her  name  impart ! 
She  grows  in    beauty   through    her    lengthening 

hours, 
And  girlish  Summer  walks  amongst  her  flowers. 


66  '-LOST." 


"LOST!' 

GOOD  ship  sailed  from  a  land-locked  bay, 

Far  out  to  the  distant  west ; 
And  we  watched  her  long,  till  she  sank  away, 
And  thought  of  the  time — of  that  not  far  day, 

She'd  enter  a  port  of  rest. 

She  passed  from  sight,  and  was  seen  no  more ! 

Who  knows  how  the  wild  waves  tossed  ? 
How  'gainst  the  tempest  and  storm  she  bore, 
And,  perchance,  went  down  near  her  destined  shore, 

With  the  wild  waves  howling,  "  lost !" 

'Tis  a  dismal  sound,  yet  more  sad,  each  day, 

Are  the  wrecks  in  this  life  we  see ; 
And  passion's  waves  have  a  fiercer  sway, 
For  they  whelm  the  soul  with  the  mold'ring  clay — 
'T  is  "  lost  "  for  eternity. 


SA  VED." 


SAVED. 

HE    demon     wind    shrieking — its    horrors 

bespeaking, 
We  float  but  a  hull  on  the  wild,  raging  sea  ; 
Do  we  speak?  None  can  hear  us!  The  craggy  shore 

near  us ; 

And  Death  seems  to  whisper :    "  Just  under 
the  lee  !" 


The  lead  gives  its  warning;— each  thought  of  the 

morning 
Is  pregnant  with  gloom,  with  a  wreck  on  the 

shore. 

But  never  despairing — his  face  a  smile  wearing, 
The  sailor  hopes  on — he  has  left  nothing  more. 


68  FRAGMENTS. 

"  Light   ho !"    is  now    ringing — the    beacon-light 

flinging 
Its  rays  through  the  darkness,  shines  dim  to 

our  sight, 

And  joy  usurps  sorrow — we  know  that  the  morrow 
Will  find  us,  safe  anchored,  inside  of  the  light. 

Thus  over  life's  surges — when  drear  are  its  dirges. 
And  Hope  almost  leaves  us,  cast  down  in  deep 

fear, 

The  soul  that  ne'er  chiding,  in  God  all  confiding, 
Is  "  saved,"  for  its  refuge  forever  is  near. 


TO  .  69 


TO 


HOU  wert  deceitful,  yet  thou   wert    all 

truth ; 
My  whole  thoughts,  once,  were  pleasant  dreams 

of  thee ; 

Without  thy  presence  I  had  lost  the  light, 
And  now  I  live,  though  thou  art  gone  from  me. 

We  left,  forgetting — yet  not  all  forgot ; 

We  can  not  meet,  as  we  have  met,  again  ; 
'Twas  not  in  anger  that  we  said,  "  Good-by !" 

We  left  in  sorrow  that  we  could  not  feign. 

A  change  had  come !  a  shadow  o'er  the  sky, 

We  knew  not  whence,  if  shadow  be  the  name  ; 
A  certain  something  brought  a  wondrous  change, 
Yet  thou,  at  least,  canst  take  no  share  of  blame. 


70  FRAGMENTS. 

'•  Thou  wert  deceitful !"  did  I  say  ?  "  To  whom  2" 
Deceit  was  ne'er  thy  nature,  nor  could  be  ; 

Our  paths   diverge,  and   though   they  ne'er   may 

meet, 
I  can  but  think  of  what  thou  wert  to  me. 


NEW  ENGLAND.  71 


NEW  ENGLAND. 

ilfET  them  boast  of  their  climes  where  Summer 

e'er  smiling, 
Gilds  bright  with  its  glories,  the  long,  fragrant 

day; 

Where  Nature  adorns,  and  her  smile,  so  beguiling, 
Wooes  mortals  from  cares  and  from  labors  away  ! 


Deceitful  that  smile — for  the  fetters  are  riven, 
And   mortal,  all   hopeless,  must   e'er   drag  the 

chain ; 
No  light  springs  from  thence — for  earth's  tyrants 

have  given 
That  land  of  the  sun,  into  bondage  again  ! 


72  FEA  GMENTS. 

But  whence  come  the  rajs,  that,  the  heavens  adorn- 
ing, 
Shine  forth  for  all  nations  to  bask  in  their  lio;ht  ? 

O 

Which  give  us  the  noon-day — which  give  us  the 

morning, 

Whose    progress    is    onward  —  dispelling     the 
night ! 


They  spring  from  NEW  ENGLAND — that  fountain  of 

learning, 

Thy  land  of  all  others  that  tyrants  most  dread ; 
The  star,  that  earth's  poor  and  oppressed,  in  their 

yearning, 
Take  courage  at  seeing  shine  bright  overhead. 


Though  cold  be  thy  clime — when,  the  wintry  winds 
sighing, 

Bring  home  from  the  ocean  thy  treasures  again, 
Yet  warm  are  the  hearts,  that,  all  danger  defying, 

E'er  true  to  their  GOD  and  their  country  remain. 


NEW  ENGLAND.  73 

They  call  thee,  "fanatic  /"  and  hoot,  in  derision  ! 

NEW  ENGLAND,  "fanatic  f"  Thank  (rod  it  is  so ! 

Her  arm  though  is  strong,  and  undimmed  is  her 

vision, 

She  cowers  to  no  traitor — she  shrinks  from  no 
blow. 


74  FRAGMENTS. 


ONLY  A  CHILD. 

a  child  that  was  killed  in  the  street ; 
Wandering  there  with  her  poor  weary  feet  ; 
u  No  one's  to  blame !"  and  the  driver  looked  wild, 
Saying,  "  It's  lucky  'twas  only  a  child  !" 


Only  a  child — yet  the  crowd  presses  on  ; 
Take  her  away  for  the  spirit  has  gone  ; 
Gone  from  its  anguish,  its  prison,  its  woe, 
Up  to  its  Maker  who  sent  it  below. 


Pity  her  not !  She  had  no  loving  home ; 
Father  a  drunkard,  her  fate  was  to  roam  ; 
Weary  and  hungry  to  beg  for  her  bread, 
Pity  her  not !   for,  at  last,  she  is  dead. 


ONLY  A    CHILD.  75 

Hollow-eyed — ragged — deformed  from  her  birth. 
All  have  refused  her  a  home  but  the  earth  ; 
Poor  little  feet  that  have  wandered  too  long, 
Pure,  sinless  heart  that  has  ne'er  known  the  wrong. 


Only  a  child — and  there  falleth  no  tear; 
No  one  remains,  that  will  think  of  her  here  ; 
But  'mongst  the  blessed  the  Father  sweet  smiled, 
And  angel-harps  welcomed  a  glad,  radiant  child. 


76  FRAGMENTS. 


words  been  said !    And  we  must 
part ; 
This  gloom y  earth, 
With  general  dearth, 
Has  scenes  like  these  to  rend  the  heart. 

The  loved  must  part  from  those  they  love  ! 

Though  friendship's  tear 

Would  hold  them  here, 
Their  Saviour's  voice  calls  them  abova 

The  Christian  says,  "  I  'm  going  home  !" 

"  I've  breasted  life, 

"  And  ceased  its  strife," 
In  golden  streets  my  feet  shall  roam  " 


ON  THE  DEPARTURE   OF  S- .  77 

"  'Tis  time  to  go  !"  the  sailor  cries  : 
He  spreads  the  sail 
And  'fore  the  gale, 
From  those  he  loves,  his  vessel  flies. 


Thus  in  the  happiest  hours  we  know, 
When  pleasures  cup, 
Is  foaming  up, 

We  hear  the  dirge,  "  'Tis  time  to  go  !" 

Then  cherished  friend,  a  fond  adieu  ! 

Nor  time,  nor  space, 

Can  e'er  efface 
The  memory  of  our  friendship  true. 


Fit  A  GMENTS. 


SUMMER. 

3,  rosy  Summer  smiles !"  and  from  her  throne 
^J|     of  flowers, 

She  scatters  perfume  through  the  livelong  day  ; 
Babbling  sweet  words  to  charm  the  list'ning  hours, 

She  trips  with  pleasure  and  with  song  away. 

The  fields  are  green,  or  show  their  changing  hues  ; 

The  swallow's  shadow  swiftly  skims  the  ground  ; 
Dame  Nature's  mirror  gleams  with  countless 
views, 

And  peace  and  plenty  seem  to  smile  around. 

The  brook  pays  tribute  to  the  noon-day  sun, 

And  laughing  children  cross  its  shallow  bed ; 
The  woods  resound  with  ring  of  huntsman's  gun  ; 
The  clouds  seem  sporting  as  they  fly  o'erhead. 


SUMMER.  79 

The  night  breathes  still, — if  we  can  call  that  night, 
Which  comes  all  radiant  with  its  jeweled  crown  ; 

The  moon  floats  on;  the  stars  with  eyes  of  light, 
Look  from  their  ocean  in  contentment  down. 


Sweet  time  of  peace  !•  The  soul  is  upward  drawn; 

We  look  to  Him  who  made  and  giveth  all ; 
Who  opes  day's  gates  and  gives  the  blessed  morn, 

He  knows  each  thought, — He  marks  each  spar- 
row's fall. 


80  FRA  GMENTS. 


THOUGHTS    ON    THE    DEATH    OF    A 
CHRISTIAN. 

"VIVIT   POST  FUNERA   VIRTUS." 

OWE,  I   in  the  sweetness  of  her  young  life 

gone; 

The  loving  child,  the  Christian  tried  and  true, 
Has  passed  from  earth  to  Heaven's  own,  endless 

morn, 

To  live  with  Jesus,  as  she  longed  to  do. 
Her's  was  the  kindly  heart  that  strove  to  cheer 

The  poor  and  needy ;  to  reform  and  and  bless ; 
Did  sorrow  call  ?  She  could  but  stop  to  hear  ! 

Did  want  demand  ?  She  could  but  answer,  u  Yes !" 
They  called  her  "  Saint,"  on  earth,  and  blessed  her 

name; 

She  lives  a  saint  in  heaven,  and  blesses  still ; 
She  did  not  murmur  when  God's  angel  came, 
But,  smiling,  said  :  "  It  is  my  Master's  will." 


ON  THE  DEATH   OF  A    CHRISTIAN.  81 

I  wandered  through  the  "  City  of  the  Dead," 

And  saw  the  new  made  grave  where  sleeps  her 

clay, 
Beside  a  mother's,  who,  long  since,  had  fled. 

But  met  her  loved  one  where  tnere's  no  decay. 
The  autumn  winds  were  sighing,  bleak  and  drear, 

The  fallen  leaves  were  rustling  all  around, 
Yet,  something,  told  me  that  He  had  passed  near, 

And  passing,  blessed  :  I  felt,  'twas  holy  ground. 
I  knew  that  Spring  would  come  again  with  cheer- 
ing showers, 

When  wintry  winds  had  passed  and  ceased  to 

rave, 
And  Summer  bloom  with  all  her  lovely  flowers, 

And  fragrance  rise  alike  from  every  grave. 

She  is  not  dead  ! — she  has  but  gone  before; 

She  needs  no  tears  ;— this  is  her  only  prayer 
From  heaven  above :  that,  when  our  toils  are  o'er, 

We  have  so  lived  that  she  can  meet  us  there. 
11 


82  FRAGMENTS. 


EPITAPH. 

§~  lEXEATH  this  mound  I  lie ;  You,  overhead, 
With  careless  step  may  pass  my  lowly  bed  ; 
Stranger  or  friend,  pass  on  !  whoe'er  you  be, 
Go  where  thou  wilt — thy  steps  but  lead  to  me ! 

I  was  ambitious — sought  to  win  a  name 
And  found  the  worm  respects  not  rank  nor  fame. 
Shed  no  vain  tear  !  the  pall — the  sigh — the  groan, 
The  last  farewell — must  shortly  be  thine  own. 

I,  too,  have  strayed  here  in  an  idle  mood ; 

Where  you  now  stand,  perchance  I,  too,  have  stood  ; 

Perchance  your  thoughts  were  mine — unknown  to 

fear, 
I  sought  a  phantom  and  it  led  me — here. 


EPITAPH.  83 

I  had  my  joys — my  friends — my  hopes — my  gloom  ! 
I  left  them  all  outside  this  narrow  tomb  ! 
Stranger  or  friend,  pass  on  !  whoe'er  you  be, 
You,  too,  must  leave  them  and  become  like  me. 


84  FRA  ORIENTS. 


REFLECTIONS  OF  AN  OLD  MAN. 
STARTED   right,    and  thought   the    way    was 

Plain ; 

With  my  dull  eye  I  thought  I  all  could  see : 
An  aged  man, — I  now  no  more  will  feign, 
This  life  has  been  a  bitter  life  to  me. 

First  Pleasure  came,  and  wooed  me  with  her  smile ; 

I  loved  the  Syren,  and  obeyed  her  tone  ; 
O'er  many  a  steep  my  feet  she  did  beguile, 

Then  left  me,  wondering  where  she  could  have 
flown  ! 

Then  every  passion  swayed  me  at  its  will, 
E'en  as  the  wind  can  raise  and  swell  the  sea  ; 

But  now,  the  tempest  calmed,  the  wild  waves  still, 
An  old  man  humbly  bends  to  THEE. 


THE   COXING   OF   WINTER.  §5 


THE  COMING  OF  WINTER. 

from  the  icy  North  the  Storm  King 

And  Nature  shudders  at  his  stern  command  ; 
He  marks  his  coming  in  the  leaden  skies, 
And  chills  his  victims  with  a  frozen  hand. 

The  trees  stand  leafless  to  his  chilling  blasts, 

And  seem  to  mourn  their  wealth  of  foliage  lost ; 

The  bird  flies  southward — yet  a  sad  look  cast?, 
Ere  far  it  flies  from  storm  and  blighting  frost. 

The  brook   grows   still  that  gurgled  through   the 
day; 

The  lazy  cattle  seek  the  well  known  shed  ; 
The  earth  grows  white — contracts  the  narrow  day, 

The  stars  shine  brighter  from  the  vast  o'erheaL 


86  FRA  GMENTS. 

Without,  the  joyous  laugh  is  heard  of  happy  boys, 
Who,  freed   from  school,  with   health   and  joy 
elate, 

With  eager  haste  and  ear-appalling  noise, 

Throw  down  the  book  to  seize  the  sled  or  skate. 

In  many  a  happy  home  the  hearth  glows  bright, 
Bright  eyes  are  sparkling,  and   joy   reigns   su- 
preme, 

The  prayer  is  uttered,  then  the  fond  "  good  night !" 
And    health   and   virtue    guard  each   sleeper's 
dream. 

In  homes  of  want  where  gaunt-eyed  famine  stares, 
The  poor,  despondent,  wail  their  hapless  lot ! 

Life  brings  to  them  no  joy,  but  bitter  cares, 
To  die  neglected — and  to  be  forgot. 

Oh,  ye,  who  happier  are,  turn  not  away ! 

Stretch  forth  the  helping  hand — relieve  distress ! 
Your  winter,  too,  may  come — let  pity  sway ! 

And  love  shall  greet  you  and  affection  bless. 


THE   COMING    OF   WINTER.  §7 

Thus  Winter  comes — and,  at  the  touch  of  Spring, 
Reluctant,  yields  his  sway  to  milder  hands  ; 

And  homeward  hies,  where,  as  perpetual  King, 
He  wields  his  sceptre  o'er  his  barren  lands. 


88 


FRAGMENTS. 


TO  A    CHILD.  89 


TO  A  CHILD. 

EADTIFUL  child,  in  life's  radiant  morning, 
When   all   is  fair   and   the   world   seeraeth 

bright, 

All  of  our  hopes  are  with  thee,  must  the  warning 
Also  be  heard,  lest  thou  swerve  from  the  right  ? 

God  grant  thy  little  feet  never  may  wander 
Forth  in  the  cold,  dreary,  province  of  sin  ! 

E'er  let  thy  loving  heart  fonder  and  fonder 
Turn  to  that  source  whence  thy  life  did  begin. 

Happy  to-day  with  no  care  for  the  morrow, 

Bright  is  thy  sun  which  now  first  gilds  the  sky  : 

Clouds  will  pass  o'er,  for  this  life  beareth  sorrow — 
Happy  thou  art.  in  not  knowing  it  nigh. 

12 


90  FRAGMENTS. 

All  of  our  hopes  are  with  thee — let  them  never 
Sink  into  darkness,  to  see  thee  defiled  ! 

God  keep  thee,  loved  one,  and  grant  that,  forever, 
Thou  may'st  in  heart  be  a  pure,  sinless  child. 


IN  HEMORIAM. 


IN  MEMORIAL 

"S.  F.  J."  1863. 

BOWED  my  head,  and  spoke  the  one  word, 

"  gone !" 

"  Whom  the  Gods  love,  die  young,"  'tis  said  : 
'Tis  but  a  pilgrim  departed  at  morn, 

Leaving  before  he'd  a  cold  world  to  dread. 
"  Gone  !"  'tis  a  word  that  doth  harrow  my  soul ! 

Loved  ones  are  passing  in  silence  away ; 
"  Gone  !"  and  the  bell  with  its  deep,  sobbing  toll, 
Tells  of  a  brother  now  mingling  with  clay. 

And  can  it  be  that  all  mortal  must  fade  ? 

Sweet  flowers   must  wither  at   autumn's   drear 

blast ; 
Daylight  is  mingled  with  night's  dreary  shade, 

Earth  and  its  pleasures,  we  know,  cannot  last. 


92  FRAGMENTS. 

But  let  us  joy,  when  the  sun  dips  the  west, 
He  sinks  but  to  rise  as  refulgent  as  e'er ; 

And  from  the  grave  to  the  regions  so  blessed, 
Angels  are  waiting,  our  spirits  to  bear. 


The  stream  must  be   crossed  though  the  surges 

sound  drear, 
The  body  must  yield,  though  the  spirit  would 

stay; 
Our  brother  is  over — we'll  shed  not  a  tear ! 

Why  weep, — when  the  darkness  gives  place  unto 

day. 

Out  on  life's  sea  rides  a  tempest  tossed  bark, 
Far  o'er  the  ocean  she  holds  her  lone  way ; 
Billows  may  roll,  or  the  day  may  grow  dark, 
Reason  or  judgment  may  give  her  no  ray — 
Yet  there's  a  light  which  is  shining  for  all, 

Brightly  it  casts  its  rays  over  the  sea, 
Welcome  thou  beacon !  'mid  night's  gloomy  pall, 
All   of  our   hopes   and   our    prayers  are    with 
thee. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  93 

Yes,  though  dark  clouds  may  life's  pathway  ob- 
scure, 

And  though  life's  surges  break  harsh  on  the  ear, 
There's  a  haven  before  us, — a  light  that  is  sure. 

The  Star  of  Redemption  is  shining  so  clear. 

Rest  then,  our  brother !  The  grave  has  no  woe, 
Though  death's  sombre  name  casts  a  gloom  o'er 

the  heart ; 

You've  left  us  in  tears  and  in  mourning  below, 
To  live   where's  no  sorrow,   where  loved  ones 
ne'er  part. 


94  FRAGMENTS. 


T  is  the  resting  place  of  those  before  us  gone, 
£**|  Who  have  lain  down  to  slumber  till  the  morn  ; 
The  rich  and  poor,  alike,  the  strong,  inform, 
Must  seek  its  darkness,  and  their  friend — the  worm ! 


It  knows  no  caste !  'tis  dust  that  lies  below. 
Though  marble  stone,  above,  may  praise  bestow  ; 
The  rains  will  fall,  and  summer  birds  will  sing, 
Alike  'bove  peasant  and  the  peasant's  king. 


It  brings  us  peace !  the  hands  that  cross  the  breast, 
In  earth's  drear  chambers,  have  at  last  found  rest ; 
The  feet  all  weary,  with  the  heavy  load, 
No  more  must  hasten  o'er  life's  thorny  road. 


THE   CHURCHYARD.  95 

The  better  part  has  fled ;  no  grave  can  keep 

A  human  soul,  however  dark  or  deep  ; 

Life  springs  from  death,  and  though  enwrapped  in 

gloom, 
Hope  springs,  triumphant,  from  the  silent  tomb. 


96  FRAGMENTS. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 

*t  is  our  common  lot ;  earth's  castles  rise 
At   Hope's  command  —  and  proudly  pierce 
the  skies ; 

They    seem    secure — the    sunbeams  'round   them 

PlaJ> 
"We  look  again — they  have  dissolved  away. 

Have   gone   fore'er !     one  breath   but   o'er   them 

passed, 

They  disappeared ;  too  frail  to  longer  last : 
And  with  them  went  the  joys,  that  cheered  us  pn, 
The  short-lived  pleasures,  that,  we  find,  have  gone. 

We  bow  the  head — and  murmur  'gainst  our  lot ; 
We  grasped  a  phantom — but  \ve  held  it  not ; 
It  smiled  so  sweetly,  that  we  called  it  u Friend  v — 
It  turned  to  ashes  in  the  very  end. 


DISAPPPOINTED.  QT 

It  lured  us  on, — e'er  keeping  in  advance ; 
It  led  us  headlong,  through  life's  giddy  danca ; 
But  disappointment  marked  its  final  goal, 
And  cast  its  shadow  o'er  the  weary  soul. 

It  is  our  common  lot !  both  rich  and  poor 
Must  feel  its  blight ; — earth's  hopes  are  not  secure ; 
It  comes  with  sorrow — and  its  name  is  filled 
With  joys  long  vanished  -hopes  all  unfulfilled. 

13 


98  FRAGMENTS. 


LINES. 

ON    TH3    DEATH    OP    A    FRIEND    WHO  DIED    AT    HAVANA. 

E  died  from  home : — far,  in  a  distant  land, 

From  those  he  loved,  he  laid  him  down 
to  sleep ; 

Earth's  scenes  are  o'er,  but  Faith  uplifts  her  hand 

And  points  above ; — he  would  not  have  us  weep, 
The  loved  must  die ! — the  brother  dear  has  gone, 

The  son  confiding,  and  the  friend  so  true ; 
'Tis  but  before, — for  we  are  hast'ning  on, 

And  soon  shall  meet  him  and  our  love  renew. 
Safe  o'er  life's  ocean,  'mid  the  howling  blast, 

He  shaped  his   course,  nor  bowed  him  to  the 

gale; 
God's  light  was  seen, — his  harbor  gained  at  last, 

No  more  through  tempests  must  his  bark  now 
sail. 


THE  IDEAL    WORLD.  99 


THE    IDEAL   WORLD. 

''HERE  is  a  land  where  the   sunbeams  are 

glist'ning, 

It  is  a  land  which  all  mortals  may  know  ; 
Often  we  rove  there,  and  stand  vaguely  list'ning, 
Reveling  'mid  objects  that  dwell  not  below. 

Bright  are  its  plains  with  sweet  flowers  ever  bloom- 
ing, 

Time  has  no  sway  in  those  regions  sublime; 
Castles  and  turrets  within  it  are  looming, 

What  shall  I  say  is  the  name  of  this  clime  ? 

It  is  the  Dream  Land  !  of  fancies  the  dwelling ; 

It  is  the  threshold  of  that  great  "  to  be," 
From  whence  the  music  of  angel  harps  swelling 

Fills  all  our  souls  with  its  sweet  melody. 


100  FRAGMENTS. 

Drear  is  this  earth,  and  its  shadows  are  falling 
Over  the  pathway,  perforce,  we  must  tread  ; 
Time  never  loiters — each  second  is  calling: 

O 

Some  one  from  life,  to  the  home  of  the  dead. 


But  in  our  visions,  the  loved,  the  departed, 
Come  once  again  as  in  blest  days  of  yore ; 

Drying  the  tears  of  earth's  poor,  broken-hearted, 
Telling  of  glories,  of  life  evermore. 

Is  it  ideal,  that  the  spirit,  upspringing, 
Leaves  its  dull  body  to  slumber  below  ? 

Death  is  but  life  !  as  the  ages  are  ringing  ; 
"  Over  the  river  "  we  see  the  bright  slow. 


Hast  tbou  not  heard— 'tis  a  strange,  ancient  story, 
Of  a  fair  island  where  death  never  came  ? 

E'en  the  poor  Indian  has  dreamed  of  its  glory, 
And,  dying,  has  whispered   its  sweet  breathing 
name. 


THE  IDEAL    WORLD.  101 

u  Isle  of  the  Blessed  !  unseen  o'er  the  ocean  ! 

Fancy  has  pictured  thy  regions  sublime ; 
Life-giving  streams  in  their  musical  motion, 

Wash  out  the  foot-prints  of  death-dealing  time. 

Land  of  Immortals !  your  blue  skies  are  smiling 
Somewhere,  I  know,  though  they're  seen  but  in 
dreams ; 

Not  as  a  mirage,  deceptive,  beguiling, 

Nor  wholly  departing  at  morning's  bright  beams. 

Life  is  but  thought ;  and  should  we  call  seeing 
With  the  dull  eye— though  the  organ  of  sight, 

All  of  our  vision? — The  soul  has  a  being, 

Wandering  at  will  through  the  regions  of  light. 

Knowing  no  shackles,  ne'er  drooping,  nor  dying, 
W  here  the  poor  body  must  stop,  it  can  roam ; 

In  the  Ideal !  and,  methinks,  it  turns  sighing, 
Joining  with  sorrow  its  poor,  earthly  home. 


102  FRAGMENTS. 

Nature  is  speaking ;  Each  bud  in  expanding : 
Cover  the  seed  !  'tis  the  germ  of  the  tree  : 

"What  is  the  lesson  to  our  understanding  ? 
This  is  its  teaching — Immortality. 

Nothing  is  lost ;  though  in  gloom  and  in  sorrow, 

Death  takes  a  loved  one  and  bears  him  away, 
The  sun  that  goes  down,  sinks  to  rise  on  the  mor- 
row, 

And  light  springs  from  darkness  and  life  from 
decay. 

Is  it  ideal — when  the  soul,  ever  longing, 

Peoples  a  world  with  its  visions  of  light  ? 
Calling  up  objects  that  ever  are  thronging — 

Visions  that  come  from  the  shadows  of  night  ? 

t 

Hast  thou  not  gazed  on  the  vast,  surging  ocean, 
Dashing  its  waves  on  the  wild,  craggy  shore, 

Telling  and  chanting  with  deep-toned  emotion 
Tales  of  such  grandeur— ne'er  thought  of  before? 


THE  IDEAL    WORLD.  1Q3 

Or  in  deep  woods  when  the  moonbeams  are  falling, 
When  the  dark  shadows  cause  spectres  to  rise, 

Hast  thou  heard,  as  it  were,  a  voice  calling, 
As  though  the  angels  spoke  soft  from  the  skies  ? 

Then  to  their  Maker,  unconscious,  we  wander, 
Awe-stricken  think — "  And   does   He   care  for 
me?" 

'  Is  He  not  speaking?  "we  ask,  and  we  ponder, — 
Dreaming  sweet  dreams  of  the  life  yet  to  be ! 

Call  these  but  fancies  !  they  yet  have  a  meaning, 
Deeper  than  mortals,  perchance,  here  can  know ; 

He,  who  in  sorrow  and  gloom  is  now  gleaning, 
May  gather  rejoicing,  the  harvest  shall  glow. 


104  FRAGMENTS. 


STAXZAS. 

HE  loveliest  flower  that  now  is  blooming, 

Scenting  sweet  the  Summer  air, 
When  the  autumn  winds  are  sighing, 
Fades  and  dies  although  so  fair. 

The  forest  tree  that  now  is  flinging 

Branches  to  the  wind  in  scorn, 
When  the  woodman's  axe  is  ringing, 

Crashing,  falls, — its  glory  gone. 

And  e'en  man,  who  dreams  of  glory, 

Fast  is  hast'ning  to  the  tomb ; 
And  his  deeds  are  but  a  story 

Told  with  joy,  but  closed  in  gloom. 


BASE  BALL.  105 


BASE    BALL. 

OU  ask  me,  Dear  sir — (and  you  are  not  to 

blame,) 

"  To  tell  you  the  points  of  our  "National  dame !" 
"  Why  they  only  take  nine  on  a  side,  an  1  not  ten? 
"  And  who  is  the  basest  of  all  the  base  men  ?" 


You  ask  me  again — and  it  is  apropos, 

"  Why  they  stop  on  a  "  foul,"  and  the  pitcher  don't 

throw  ? 

"  Why  a  "fly,"  when  it's  taken,  produces  alarm, 
"  How  a  ball  gets  "  red  hot  ?"  why  a  "  muff"  causes 

harm  ?" 


106  FRAGMENTS. 

Yon    ask  ine,  — "  the  pleasure  ?"  and  here  I   look 

wise, 

And  answer  you  thwly :  first  rolling  my  eyes, 
(Though  I  ne'er  played  a  game)  yet  I  boldly  will 

speak, 
For  he   knows   the   most   who   "goes   in  on    his 

cheek—" 


"Why,  you  see,  sir,  the  pleasure  consists  in  the 

fact, 

'•  That  the  pleasure  consists  in  the  consumate  tact 
"  Of  the  pleasure  !"     At  this  point  I  stop, 
For  I  find  my  poor  friend  about  ready  to  drop ; 
In  fact,  as  a  joke,  though  it  is  'bout  the  worst 
I  ever  got  off,  he  goes  "  out  on  the  first." 

"  Tis  the  great  aim  of  life !"  "  It  is  the  all  in  all  P 
"  Young  man  leave  your  business,  but  leave  not 

base  ball ! 

"  Why  the  village  of  Pokeville,  with  forty-four  men, 
"J3o  divided  these  up,  that  of  clubs  it  had  ten. 


BASE  BALL.  107 

"•  And   Stubbville,  my  friend,  grew   alarmed,   for 

'twas  said 

'•  That  Pokeville  was  getting  a  little  ahead ; 
"  So  they  straight  called  a  meeting,  and  here  is  the 

rub, 
"  Every  man  in  the  town  of  himself  made  a  dub  ! 

"  "Why  Sir !  here's  an  instance  of  progress  in  life : 
"  I  well  know  a  man  with  a  child  and  a  wife, 
"  Who  lived  by  his  labor,  had  no  hopes  to  shine, 
"And  now  he's  third  base  on  tha  "Roaring  Bull 

Nine !" 

'•  'Tis  true  he  is  poor  and  his  wife  suffers  some; 
"  That  his  nose  has  turned  red  and  his  breath  smells 

of  rum ; 

"  That  his  child  goes  in  rags, — but  his  club,  t'other 
day, 

"  Beat  the  club  out  to  Beanville, — at  least  so  they 
say. 

"  This  is  only  one  case,  but  I  could  mention  more, 
"  Of  just  such  advancements  ;  I  know  a  full  saora  ; 


108  FRAGMENTS. 

"  Why  you  see,  my  dear  friend,"  I  was  still  going 

on, 
But  on  looking  'round,  I  found  out  he  had  gone. 


INFANCY.  109 


INFANCY. 

l:  I     DREAMT    I    AVAS    A 


IME   of  the   measles   and    the  whooping- 

cough, 

When  Death  gets  wearied  taking  young-ones  off  ! 
Time  of  the  colic  and  the  midnight  yell, 
An  humble  bard  would  fain  thy  glories  tell  ! 

Delightful  period  of  infantile  joy  ! 

When  careful  nurses  soothe  the  "  darling  boy  !" 

With  life  all  pure  and  undefined  by  sin, 

He  rests  his  head  on  some  protruding  pin. 

Time  that  must  come  to  wise  man  and  to  dunce, 
Ambrosial  nectar  that  we  sip  but  once  ! 
Time  of  the  hopes  that  ne'er  can  be  fulfilled  — 
I  wonder  that  more  young-ones  are  not  killed  ! 


HO  FRAGMENTS. 

Time  when  we  know  the  most  we  e'er  can  know  ; 
Time  when  we  sleep  and  folks  can  '•  see  us  grow ;" 
Time    when    we're  « lovely  "-though   a    perfect 

fright ; 
I  pray  you  Time  don't  «  backward  turn,"  to-ni.-ht  f 

JT* 

Time  of  all  times  the  best  and  yet  the  worst ! 
Time  of  all  times  the  last  and  yet  the  first ! 
I  can  but  bless  thee  that  thou  hast  passed  by, 
And  wait  thy  second  birth,  which  I  feel  nio-1, 

•  £}      * 


"LOVER'S  RETREAT." 


Ill 


"LOVER'S    RETREAT. 


i  is  blushing  at  the  kiss  of  sun, 
§jf^|rr    'The  Day  God,  smiling,sinks, — his  course 

well  run ; 

The  tall  tro  >s  arch  o'erhead,  and  Nature,  sweet, 
Proclaims  t    is  chosen  spot  her  own  retreat. 


At  such  p,  time,  alone,  in  idle  mood, 
My  steps  have  led  me  through  this  fragrant  wood  ; 
The  flowers  around  me  spring — the  birds  sing  love, 
And  Beiuty  holds  her  reign,  below,  above. 


The    brook's    sweet    murmur,  'neath    the  sylvan 

shade, 

Steals  fraught  with  music  from  the  opening  glade  ; 
Afar,  frojm  busy  town,  the  chiming  bell, 
Day's  closing  hour,  in  harmony,  doth  tell. 


112 


FRAGMENTS. 


How  many  a  bashful  maid  and  ardent  ;  wain    \ 
Have  passed,  all  fondly,  o'er  this  lovely  plain  J 
And  shaped  their  future,  whilst,  with  in  -  iric  pdwer, 
They  felt  the  influence  of  the  place  —  th    hour. 


Perchance  'twas  long  ago  that  here  th< 
And  told  their  tales  of  love  beneath  thi    -hade 
Tet  mem'ry  e'er  will  turn  to  scenes  lik     these, 
And  lead  them,  dreaming,  'neath  the  ar  lung  trees. 


The  clouds  grow  darker  in  the  western  sky  ; 
I  homeward  turn — yet  breathe  a  fond  good-by  ; 
And  oft  when  wand'ring  through  the  dusty  street, 
I,  too,  will  dream  of  Nature's  fair  retreat. 


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